Jesse's Name

They call me Old Girlie, because my cinnamon has turned to grey, and Sweet Potato which, as a descriptor, is perhaps a bit too accurate, but I don't mind, as long as the peanut butter toast keeps coming. They call me Dearest and Baby Girl, and Come-On-Honey-Bee when I take too long to think about things as I sniff along the trail. They call me Silly Sloot, as I lay in the sun with my privates on glorious display.

I am alright with this. 

I am even okay with being called Jesse, even though that is not my name, because I hear my real name in their voices.

I hear it when She uses my back for a pillow while She reads to me, even though I don't really care for post-apocalyptic fiction. He speaks it as he rubs my hips on cold mornings to make the ache a little better. I hear it when they call me over and over in the too-early morning, when my warm bed is all I really want. 

I hear it when I suffer the indignity of being lifted down from the car, before my legs betray me and I fall. 

I hear it every day.

My name is Awesome.